


all these years on my own, fight my fight all alone, til you came

by CordeliaRose



Series: Lowlife [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, His injuries are mentioned but not in great detail, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Resolved Argument, Theo gets in a fight but that's not shown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27920773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CordeliaRose/pseuds/CordeliaRose
Summary: A trip to the Sheriff's station, not-therapy with a therapist, and angry Greek mythology references is how Theo spends his weekend.
Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken
Series: Lowlife [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/968349
Comments: 20
Kudos: 76





	all these years on my own, fight my fight all alone, til you came

“Been a while,” the Sheriff says conversationally, dropping down into the chair opposite him with a small grunt. The interrogation room is a formality and mostly because the holding cells are littered with happy hour drunks. The deputy that brought him in – new, Theo didn’t recognise him, his nametag read  _ J. Parrish _ \- had eyed the first cell of grizzly, belligerent alcoholics and the second of merrily singing blue- collars, and decided against either of them. Theo still hasn’t decided if he’s offended or flattered.

“Had things to do,” Theo replies just as easily. They didn’t bring the other guys in – couldn't, they all ran when the sirens got too close – so the risk of them charging him with anything is low. But not zero, so he won’t get too cocky yet. He made that mistake before and it got him an overnight stay thanks to one of the  harsher deputies, Haigh.

“I heard,” the Sheriff says drily, “several times, in fact, from Stiles. Angrily, hysterically, and while showering, once.”

“On the phone, or?”

“He told me to stand outside the door. I left when I realised it was the same  rant I’d heard the day before, and the day before that. And the – well, you get the picture.”

“At least he’s consistent.” Parrish let him keep his sunglasses when it was clear that Theo wasn’t going to resist the handcuffs or a trip behind a security grid, and he’s glad for the shield that hides the flicker of hurt he’s sure ghosts across his eyes. He’d thought that Liam’s friends were at least halfway accepting of the relationship by now. Not that it matters particularly, or that he cares.

“Nah, he’s eased up recently. Something about jocks and a TV show about burgers.” The Sheriff doesn’t register the weight that rolls off his shoulders at the words, too absorbed in flipping through Theo’s file in front of him to find tonight’s form. “What possessed you to take on four grown men in an alley?”

“I didn’t.” The Sheriff lifts his gaze for a second to fix him with an entirely unimpressed stare before he drops it back down to the report. “There was only one guy when I started the fight.”

“Ah, well. Then would you like to explain to me why Deputy Parrish has written, and I quote, ‘ Raeken was observed in a physical altercation with four others, estimated to be adult men between their mid-twenties and mid-thirties, who all fled the scene before they could be apprehended’?”

“I was in a physical altercation with one other, estimated to be an adult man between his mid-twenties and mid-thirties, and then we were joined by who I assume were his friends. Three others, also estimated to be adult men between their mid-twenties and mid-thirties.” The face the Sheriff has is strongly advising him to dial back on the sass. “Look, I started a fight with an asshole and then three other assholes jumped in to help the first asshole.”

“You also declined hospital treatment.”

“They weren’t good fighters.” He’s not lying – one of them had his thumb tucked into his hand and broke it punching Theo in the collarbone, while another spent the whole three minutes before the cops arrived dancing around in a circle, unable to get close enough to do anything. 

“Well, would you let one of us take a look at you? For our own peace of mind, if nothing else?”

Theo relents, if only because Sheriff Stilinski can be as stubborn as his son. “Bring me a first-aid kit and I’ll patch myself up.” It’s the most he’ll allow them, and they both know it, so the Sheriff nods and scrapes his chair back to retrieve the kit.

It grants him a few minutes of reprieve, to collect the shards of his dignity back off the floor and glue them together hastily. Bring the mask back down, like shutters behind his eyes and a painted-on smile. By the time the Sheriff returns with a green box, bowl of water and small mirror, he’s smeared neutrality all over his expression and posture. He still says thank you, though.

Theo patches himself up in silence. After he’s cleaned his busted lip and the thin but long laceration under his eye, and put a couple of butterfly strips over it, the Sheriff excuses himself and leaves with a direction to soak his knuckles when he’s finished. Theo carries on, ignoring the bruises he can sense threatening to spring to the surface, and focuses on the gash that’s mostly hidden by his hair, just the tail-end of it peeking out onto his temple. He’s given himself stitches before, so this really isn’t anything, but he still winces as he dabs at the dried blood. He knew he was going soft.

His arms ache, as does his abdomen, but nothing’s broken. He didn’t lose consciousness, so no concussion either. Just the inevitability of Corey’s sad eyes when he comes to pick him up, and whatever flimsy excuse he needs to concoct for Liam’s persistent and aggravating interrogations. He submerges his hands in the bowl as instructed, eyes tracking the flakes of dried blood as they detach from his skin and float to the surface of the water. 

His phone is in a paper bag at the front desk along with his wallet and whatever else he had in his pockets, taken as standard procedure when he was booked. He assumes that’s where Stilinski has gone, familiar with Theo’s normal course of action by now. Call Corey, charm the receptionist while he waits for his lift back home, carry on with life as normal, see you again whenever he can’t get away from the scene of the crime quick enough.

Except Stilinski doesn’t come back for another twenty minutes. He doesn’t have the paper bag of his belongings, but he holds the door open for somebody else. “We’ve been bending the rules letting you go without a parent or guardian,” he explains, and in walks Jenna. She looks tired, her shoulders drooping in a manner she’d reprimand Liam for, and she’s clearly wearing pyjamas with a coat thrown over the top.

She still smiles at him, albeit a little tight. “You’re officially my responsibility for the next twenty-four hours, I signed a temporary custody release form.” While Theo is trying desperately to figure out how to travel back in time and avoid this whole situation, she sits down in the Sheriff’s vacated chair and produces a stack of paper napkins from a pocket.

“I can just go home, I’m fine,” Theo tries to protest even as she coaxes his hands out of the water and begins patting them dry. “You really don’t need to do this, Mrs Geyer.”

Jenna tsks. “I thought we’d broken you of that,” she reprimands, rummaging in the first-aid kit and fishing out an anti-septic cream. “Did you clean all those cuts on your face?”

“Yes ma’am.” He’s not even trying to be contrary; it just slips out naturally, a long-forgotten deference to authority awoken in the face of genuine care. “Sorry.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you apologise before,” the Sheriff comments. Theo almost jumps, Stilinski’s presence ignorable as he leans against the wall by the door, and then he glares behind the sunglasses.

Years of practice step in for him, answering, “I don’t apologise for things that aren’t my fault,” without his brain thinking of the words. 

“Noah said you started this fight,” Jenna replies. Her eyes are still fastened on his hands, gently smearing the cream over the splits in the skin, but her expression is strained once again.

“Yeah, well, he was following some girls and catcalling them, so he deserved it.” They were both fairly young, in school uniforms – probably the Catholic girls’ school just outside of town – and visibly frightened by the stranger following them and yelling comments about their bodies. “I don’t know if he was going to do anything, but he really freaked them out.”

Jenna pauses for a moment, fingers hovering over his own. “You were protecting them,” she says softly.

Theo makes a noise of protest – he was angry and wanting to take it out on someone, and this guy just happened to make a good target, being made into a hero is the last thing he wants. But the Sheriff seems to be in semi-agreement - “Right idea, wrong methodology.  Next time, call us.”

Theo – well, he doesn’t quite snort, but it’s close to it and definitely derisive, and both of the adults pick up on it. The Sheriff straightens almost defensively, and Jenna gets back to gently rubbing the cream over his knuckles. “No offence to you personally, Sheriff, but I’ve seen what your department does when teenagers are in trouble.”

The Sheriff knows precisely what he’s talking about. “I’m sorry we can’t do more for Corey,” he confesses, and to his credit it sounds completely genuine, “but we’re caught up in red tape. Unless Corey comes to us and makes a statement, or we see enough evidence for probable cause, our hands are tied.”

Jenna steps in again, maybe because she can sense that Theo is about to say something that will get him another sleepover at the station. “I doubt you’ll ever get that out of Corey. I asked him what his favourite food was  once and he nearly took out a restraining order. I’ve never met someone so private.”

“It’s an admirable trait to have,” the Sheriff says. “Empathy, I mean. But sometimes you need to focus on your own battles, Theo.”

“And on that note, I think we’re ready to go home,” Jenna announces, closing the first-aid kit back up and shoving the remaining napkins back into her pocket. Theo pretends her use of the word ‘home’ doesn’t ignite a small fire in his chest. “Nothing to do with your hospitality, Noah, but I think Theo’s just as eager to get out of here as I am.”

“That makes three of us. Night shifts aren’t my favourite either.” Stilinski ushers them out of the room to the front desk, hands over Theo’s stuff, and has Jenna sign another form before they leave. Deputy Parrish comes out to grab something for himself and, considering he was the one who arrested Theo in the first place, is surprisingly pleasant as he wishes Theo a good night. Theo’s  kind of baffled , but this guy seems like a boy scout and would  probably apologise for the disruption caused if his own heart attack took place during work hours. He even offers him a small pack of tissues in case he starts bleeding on the way back, which Theo accepts because  he’s already troubled Jenna enough for one night, he  doesn’t want to add exsanguination all over the interior of her car to his sins.

“Let me know when the adoption papers come through,” Stilinski says as a farewell, to which Jenna scoffs and shakes her head without ire, and Theo is wordlessly confused by. He lets it go as they head out into the parking lot and Jenna instinctively steps in front of him to check for traffic before walking forward. Liam always complains when she does it, but Theo likes it. The world is a terrible place, and if she has to look both ways on behalf of her son to make herself feel better, there are worse things she could do. It feels like something a parent would do.

The delicate silence between them lasts until Jenna’s pulling out onto the main road, religiously checking her mirrors as she does so. It’s a far cry from Liam’s own driving style, which can be summed up best as ‘say a prayer and wear your seatbelt’. Theo’s the one who intrudes into it, feeling it crack underneath him like he’s edging his way across thin ice. “You want to know why I did it.”

“I do,” Jenna admits, “but I’m not going to ask.” She stifles a yawn and Theo feels another surge of guilt for dragging her out of bed, even if he wasn’t the one to make the call.

“But you want to,” Theo presses.

“But I won’t,” Jenna says, just as firmly. It could be part of her skillset as a psychologist, but it’s just as likely that it’s her mom senses that are telling her Theo’s trying to trap her in a lie, force her to divulge some ulterior motive.

“Why not?” He’s not trying to sound belligerent, but it’s definitely there. His body shrinks back into the passenger seat a little in response to himself, trying to show Jenna that he’s not the big bad wolf.

“I’m not going to psychoanalyse you without your permission, Theo. You have control over that. You have control over your own brain and who you let in there.”

“I’m not so sure I do.” Jenna doesn’t say anything to that. It’s probably a tactic, saying silent so that he feels obligated to break it, and it works. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“Do you actually not know? Or are you just not letting yourself know?” 

That sends Theo into a tailspin for a few minutes. “I think I know. But I’m not letting myself know so much that I actually don’t know. Even though I do.” That did not come out remotely how he wanted it to. He sounds vulnerable, raw, an exposed nerve running through the unsteady cant of his words.

“Take a guess. If you were seeing yourself from someone else’s perspective, what would you say?”

“At a guess, I’d say it’s rooted in my deep need for control, the trauma of watching my sister die at a young age while I didn’t save her, and the self-destructive tendencies that come out when I think someone’s getting too close to me.” At a guess.

They pass under a streetlight. Jenna’s eyes are shining. “I’d say that’s a good guess.” She lets them both bathe in the aftermath of their words for a few seconds before, “Your sister died?”

“She had a heart attack when she was twelve. I was eight. We were playing Monopoly and she just fell out of her chair.” He squeezes his eyes shut against the influx of flashbacks like they’re playing out in front of him and not inside his head. It doesn’t do anything. He watches Tara suddenly freeze and collapse in slow motion, her hand swiping half of the playing tokens off the board as she topples. He watches the paramedics load her onto a gurney and send shockwaves through her small body. He watches as her coffin is lowered into the ground.

“That’s awful, Theo. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything.” The standard response to loss, what every adult has ever said to his face. He wishes some would have the courage to say what his parents do behind his back.

_ It should have been Theo. _

“I overheard one of the doctors saying that CPR might have brought her back, but it was too late now. I knew CPR. I was just too scared to do it. When we learnt it at  school they said that you might end up breaking ribs, and that was all I could think about.  So I just let her die instead.” The trolley problem. Inaction leads to a greater loss, but intervention holds you personally responsible for whatever happens. The Tara problem.

“You were eight.” Jenna jerks the wheel a little harsher than she normally does. “And your focus is on the wrong words. It  _ might _ have brought her back. That means it might not.” 

“You can’t change the past, only the future,” Theo says automatically. He’s been trying for almost a decade to let the mantra seep into his brain and take over the overwhelming guilt that spills into his system whenever he thinks about Tara, and it’s been wholly unsuccessful as anything other than an annoying habit. Before Jenna can comment on it, he speaks again. “What would you say? If I was reclined on a couch in front of you?”

It eases the tension a little; Jenna laughs, shaking her head as they turn onto her road. “I have no idea why therapy is  _ ever _ portrayed as  that, I don’t even have a couch in my office. I have beanbags, though, you could make yourself a couch out of those.”

“No, it has to be one of those fancy leather French ones. The, uh, the chaise  longues .”

“I’ll make a note.” They pull into the driveway. The house is dark except for the entryway, highlighting the umbrella stand and shoe rack through the glass panes of the front door. “But, for the record, beanbags or chaise longue, I would say... that self-harm is most commonly portrayed in media as cutting. But there are other types. Letting yourself be hurt by someone else, or goading someone else into hurting you, those are both types of self-harm too. Someone else carries out the warrant but you’re still the one who signed it.”

“Hmm.” Jenna is watching him out of the corner of her eye, not hiding that she’s watching but not outright staring either. “Good thing I’m not one of your patients then.” He can hear her sigh as he slides out of the car, but he’s good at pretending that nothing hurts now.

“The spare room is made up,” Jenna says as they step inside the house, voices hushed. “Liam isn’t going to accept what happened without an argument, and I’d rather that happened when it was light outside.”  She’s right, as always, Liam is a light sleeper and would absolutely demand to know what had happened to Theo’s face if he tried to slip in.  That’s only partially why  he’s not arguing. Now that he knows Liam is going to be just a room away, his body is yearning for him, but  he’s pulled Jenna out of bed at stupid o’clock in the morning already so  he’s just going to do whatever she asks him to at this point.

He strips off his jacket and sunglasses before getting into the bed, but he  doesn’t shed his jeans or T-shirt. The denim and its fastenings dig into his skin uncomfortably but  it’s a good, grounding sensation, keeps him out of his own head and especially away from the echo of  _ there are other types _ ,  somewhat ironically . He  dozes , not rested when he heads downstairs the next morning sans sunglasses, but ready to start making breakfast for Jenna as the least he can do in thanks.

Theo putters around quietly, wincing when pans  clank together and the grill hums with electricity. He fixes bacon and eggs, toast, coffee, then some chocolate chip pancakes because Jenna has a weakness for  them, and prepares three plates for the family. Just as  he’s trying to slip away, though, he quite literally bumps into Liam in the doorway of the kitchen. 

His heart twists painfully. The sight of Liam half-asleep in the mornings does to him what the sight of a sick toddler does to parents;  he’s immediately overcome with the desperate urge to protect at all costs and something inside him goes gooey and soft. “Smells good,” Liam mutters, not even registering Theo’s presence as he wanders past towards the food. His eyes are barely open, legs  operated on the muscle memory of so many mornings. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Theo manages. If he  didn’t know that  he’s about to get into a  pretty horrendous fight over the bruises that sprouted overnight – three on his face, many more over his torso but those are hidden away thankfully –  he'd be amused  by the way Liam spins around and almost capsizes to the tiled floor.

“Theo? Theo!” Questioning turns to celebration. “Theo.” Turns to anger and worry when he rubs the tired from his eyes and sees him properly.

Jenna slips past him, still frozen in the doorway. “I’ll leave you two to sort this out,” she says  genially , grabbing a small tray and loading two plates and two cups of coffee onto it. “Liam, try not to kill him, I am technically legally responsible for him until two thirty-seven AM. Theo, try not to...” She struggles to find the right phrase in her sleep- and caffeine-deprived state. “Try not to make things worse for yourself,” she settles on, and swishes from the room with the tray.

Theo closes the kitchen door pre-emptively. Liam  doesn’t do quiet – ever, really, and especially not when it comes to  something he’s passionate about. “I got in a fight,” is his opening line. Succinct, tells you everything you need to know and nothing that you  don’t .

“Yeah, I can tell.” Liam steps closer, eyes speeding over Theo’s face as he catalogues the injuries. “What happened?”

Theo could lie.  He’s good at lying, and if he said that Corey’s parents or even his own parents or just some asshole picked a fight with him and he had to defend himself, Liam would believe  him and Jenna  wouldn’t betray him. Lying comes as painlessly as breathing at this point.

He  doesn’t lie. “I punched a guy in an alleyway.”

“ Of course you did. Why wouldn’t you?” Liam’s voice starts to rise in hysteria. “Oh, what did you do on Friday night? Just punched a guy in an alleyway and started a fight! What else would I do?”

“My apologies for not being at Bible Camp with all the other good Christian kids,” Theo snaps before he can think better of it. If he were a wolf his hackles would be vertical by now, fangs bared in mortified defence. 

Liam explodes a little bit. Even through the blinding mist of his own anger, Theo is impressed by how well  he’s keeping a lid on the rage that must be threatening to spill out like lava. “I don’t want you to be a saint, Theo,” he spits, “but is it too much to ask that you don’t get yourself beaten up every weekend?”

“You should see the other guy.”  _ Guys _ , plural, but Liam  doesn’t need to know that.

“Do not! Do not deflect this, Theo, this is not something you can make a joke about and we’ll just forget it ever happened!” Liam’s fury is kinetic, short quick strides towards him and aborted gestures that  crackle with wrath.

“Maybe you should,  _ Liam _ , because this isn’t the first time!” Theo bellows. Liam takes a step back at the volume, but he  doesn’t look any less livid, or any more ready to duck out of the ring. “And it  won’t be the last, so take note! This is who I am. This is what I do.”

“This is not who you are!” Liam’s voice cracks on the last word, and some of his  vexation drains with it. “This is who other people think you are, this is who other people expect you to be.”

“There’s a reason for that, sweetheart. They see me for what I am, they’re not such bleeding hearts that they ignore all the warning signs.”

Liam bristles. “That is bullshit.” He moves forward, puts himself right in Theo’s space. “There is more to you than this. Just like-” He exhales roughly and sharply, scrubs a hand over his face. “Just like there is more to me than my IED.”

That’s what does him in, really. Because Liam has shared things with him that  he’s never told anybody else, the shame that slicks his insides like oil,  _ what if the IED is all  _ _ I’ll _ _ ever  _ _ be _ and  _ it makes me into someone I  _ _ don’t _ _ like _ . Nights curled around each other, whispering secrets that can only be shared when the darkness is pressing on them and pulling skeletons out of the cupboards, out of the basement, out of the ground, so the very least Theo can do is  _ try _ to reciprocate the honesty.

He sags all at once, pushes past Liam and sinks onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. Forearms braced on the  surface, every muscle tensed. Liam  doesn’t join him, but his own posture eases. Fists clenched at his sides loosen and shoulders slump. 

“It’s easier,” he admits quietly, like it  doesn’t count if the world  can’t hear him. “It’s easier than talking about  it . I – I can’t talk about it.”

Liam is silent for a long time. When Theo dares to glance up, the younger boy’s expression is  mulish and challenging. “You can talk about it,” he asserts. Confident, like he knows Theo better than he knows himself. Confident, like he believes Theo  has the ability to know himself. Confident, like he trusts Theo.

“Liam-”  It’s practically a growl.

“You can,” Liam presses, eyes flashing like a storm at sea, “but you don’t let yourself.”

“I just told you,” Theo grinds out, “that I can’t, Liam. Drop it.”

“You know what it is. You know you can talk about it. But  you’re so – I  don’t know, scared, of seeming like you don’t have total control over everything in life that you won’t admit it!” Liam swears and launches himself forward, getting close, too close. “You are terrified, you are terrified all the time, and that is why you walk around like you have all the answers. You don’t fool me, Theo.” Liam packs as much irascibility into his name as he would a gut punch. “You’re just scared.”

The words claw deep into his psyche. Something inside him sparks, then snaps.

“Fine.” He slithers from the stool and stalks towards Liam, forcing him to retreat until  he’s trapped against the wall. “You want to know what  _ it _ is?” Theo angles himself as close as he can without their bodies connecting, blocks Liam in with a cage of his arms either side of his head. 

Liam’s breathing is quick, eyes wide, every part of him beaconing his alarm. Theo’s own primal fear roars in sick agreement.  _ This is what  _ _ it’s _ _ like. _

“ _ It _ is everything, okay?  _ It  _ is  all of the ugly parts of me, everything inside of me that means you should run for the hills.  _ It _ is guilt, shame, anger, resentment, pain.  _ It _ makes me want to burn everyone around me to the ground sometimes, and  _ it _ tells me that I should.” Nausea suddenly swirls in his stomach when he registers Liam’s  terror and he shoves away in a fluid motion. “ _ It _ is what makes me do that, okay?  _ It _ makes me enjoy your fear.”

He sinks to the floor.  It’s not what he wants to do, but the rage has burnt away his energy and now his legs are crumbling underneath him. His entire world is crumbling beneath him.

Liam’s plaid pyjama legs edge towards him. One small shuffle at a time, like  he’s playing Grandma’s Footsteps. Careful of triggering the beast again.  It’s an eternity before he speaks. “You don’t enjoy scaring me. You just want to be in control of something. And if you can push me away, that means you controlled me leaving. It means that I didn’t leave you."

“Well done, you figured out just how fucked up I am.” His voice is  scratchy from the tears. “Do you want a medal?”

“I want you to talk to me,” Liam all but pleads, and falls into a heap before him. “That’s all I want, Theo. You seem to think you’re some anthropomorphic Pandora’s Jar, but you’re not, okay? You don’t need to be punished for all the misery and pain and bad things in the world just because you exist. But when you keep everything bottled up inside, and refuse to let anybody help, you are causing yourself so much pain. And you definitely don’t deserve that.”  Liam’s hand reaches forward, stretching out hesitantly, but then withdraws before his touch can burn Theo’s skin. 

Theo wants to beg him to come back, but it feels too much like thrusting a sword through his heart. “It’s not a conscious decision,” he confesses instead. “I really don’t know why I act like this, Liam. I wish I did.”  He’s suddenly exhausted. Ha. Suddenly. Try most of his life.

Liam’s eyes bore into the top of his head like trepanation. “I don’t know how to help you.”

“It’s not your job to help me.”

“Maybe I want to do some volunteer work. You know, pad out my college application.” 

Theo chokes on a laugh. “You’re already helping me, Li. Just by being here.”

“Well, that’s just standard. You’re not getting rid of me now.” Liam says it like  it’s nothing, like his love should be taken for granted. Theo wants, no,  _ needs  _ him to understand.

“When I’m with you,” the confession feels like an earthquake, “I forget how much I hate myself.” He finally manages to drag his eyes up to Liam’s, but he  can’t decipher anything  that’s going on in them. Windows to the soul indeed, but someone needs to get Theo a guidebook. 

“I can’t be the reason you’re okay.”

A point-blank shotgun blast to the forehead would hurt less. “I know.” He does know. And he knew this day would come. But in  all of his preparation for the moment Liam realised he was too much, he never expected it to feel like this.

“It’s not healthy. For either of us.”

“I know,” Theo repeats.  The knowledge that  it’s the truth  doesn’t ease the sting.

A soft hand under his chin, tilting his head upwards. “But I can help you. I can help you become the reason  you’re okay. If you’ll let me.” Liam leans forward, his forehead colliding with Theo’s just a touch painfully. “Please let me help you.”

With everything around him  disintegrating , Theo’s  finely-tuned crass comes to the rescue. He might not be able to talk, but the persona he created can. “With an ass like yours, how could I refuse you anything?”

Liam huffs and just like that the strain in the room is swept away. “You’re awful. You’re really, really awful.”

“And you love me.” Theo makes sure his intonation is teasing, playful, to cover up the true  piteous nature of the words. Theodore Raeken, rolling over to show his belly, begging for validation. Only for Liam Dunbar.

“I love you,” Liam confirms, tilting his head to kiss him quickly. “Even if you’re super messed up.”

“Maybe your mom can recommend someone.” He loves Jenna, and  that’s exactly why he  can’t have her as a therapist.  It’s probably a conflict of interest too.  _ A _ _ nd _ she  doesn’t have a chaise longue.

“Yeah, maybe she can.” Liam is beaming like the world has been tailor-made just for him. “It’ll take a while, you know. And it will be really tough at times.” He holds out his hand, little finger outstretched in a hook. “Pinky promise you won’t give up?”

“What are we, twelve?” Theo says in his best withering voice, but he links his own  pinky with Liam’s and says solemnly, “I  pinky promise that I won’t give up on trying to become okay. And if I do,  you can break my finger.”

“What?” Liam splutters, horrified.

“That’s what it means. If someone breaks the promise you can break their finger, that’s how it started.” He thinks. He saw it on Twitter, so its  veracity is  sketchy , but it sounds like the  kind of brainless custom humans would invent.

“Huh. Look at you, font of obscure historical facts. You’re going to steal my title.” Liam is looking him up and down appraisingly.  He’s probably turned on right now, nerd.

“I doubt it. What was that thing you said about  Pandora? I thought she had a box.”

Liam practically vibrates with the thrill of sharing his ancient history fetish. “Mistranslation! She had a jar, one of those big clay ones. It’s called a pithos, and for a  long time people thought that word was just for any generic container, so someone translated it as box and then it stuck.”

“Definitely not taking your title anytime soon. And for the record, I don’t see myself as Pandora.”  Maybe a little bit. But even  he’s not  _ that _ arrogant, he knows  he’s not the reason for global wretchedness. Just regional.

“Obviously not.  That’s the feminine form of the name, you’d be  Pandoros .” With a sigh more  befitting an elderly man with chronic arthritis, Liam pushes himself up from the floor. “Come on,  let’s eat. I’m so hungry.”

Theo is disorientated for a moment, struck by the rapid changes in mood that conversation had taken, but  he’s not too dazzled to recognise the olive branch for what it is and follows suit. “Do you want some fresh toast? It’s probably gross by now.”

“Please.” Liam already has his mouth full of scrambled egg, but  he’s frowning at his plate like  it’s slaughtered his entire family. “There’s not enough here for both of us.”

“There might be if you didn’t eat like a starving wolf.”

“You were planning on sneaking out!” Liam accuses, pointing a crispy stick of bacon in his direction in lieu of a  reproving finger. “Theodore!”

Theo sets the toaster going before he slinks over to his ridiculous boyfriend. “There is only one situation where you’re allowed to call me Theodore,” he warns, “and it is definitely not this one.” He snatches the bacon and munches it as he retrieves a fresh butter knife from the cutlery drawer.

“Such an asshole,” Liam mumbles under his breath, scooping more eggs into his mouth. Theo  can’t blame him; he makes  really good eggs, the first time he made breakfast for the two of them aside. Which is Liam’s fault anyway, he  shouldn’t have wandered into the kitchen shirtless and distracted him into leaving the burner on. “Stop getting into fights.”

“No promises.”

**Author's Note:**

> just to get real for a sec...  
> i had a wobble recently, by which i mean i had a complete meltdown over the fact that i can't do anything well in life, but then i was like 'hey, how bout some validation?' so i went through the bookmarks and comments on this fic.  
> and the comments you guys have left me, such absolutely lovely kind words, and the fact that some of my like, favourite authors on this site have read this & liked it enough to comment or bookmark?  
> it pulled me out of the wobble & i am feeling very uwu towards you all  
> thank you for making me feel loved & important during a pretty hard part of my life. writing is a big thing to me & it's taken me a long time to accept that i don't have to be the best at it to share my stuff, & a lot of that acceptance comes from all of your guys' encouragement and feedback.   
> every single one of you who's interacted with any of my fics, whether that's a kudos or a comment or a bookmark, you have made me a happier and mentally healthier person and there aren't words that can do my gratitude justice. just know i seriously adore all of you 💜  
> and on a less sappy note, if you want to leave me some feedback/constructive criticism on this fic, it's hugely appreciated! i would also love to write some stuff in this series that you guys have suggested if you have any prompts!  
> i'm also on [tumblr as cordelia---rose](https://cordelia---rose.tumblr.com/) and i also have a [fandoms sideblog!](https://cordeliarosebutfandoms.tumblr.com/)  
> stay safe out there y'all. much love.💜


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